Write verse, not poetry. The public wants verse. If you have a
Write verse, not poetry. The public wants verse. If you have a talent for poetry, then don't by any means mother it, but try your hand at verse.
“Write verse, not poetry. The public wants verse. If you have a talent for poetry, then don’t by any means mother it, but try your hand at verse.” Thus declared Robert W. Service, the bard of the Yukon, whose songs of the frozen north reached the ears of miners, trappers, and wanderers more than the lecture halls of critics. His words are not a rejection of poetry, but a recognition of the hunger of the people: they long not for lofty mysteries, but for rhythms they can carry in their mouths, images they can remember by the fire, lines that walk with them as companions in labor and solitude.
The meaning of this saying lies in the distinction between verse and poetry. Service draws the line not to belittle poetry, but to reveal a practical truth. Poetry—in its deepest, most exalted sense—is revelation, beauty, and vision, but it is often too rarefied for the common heart. Verse, on the other hand, is the language of song, story, and memory, shaped for sharing and for delight. The public does not always seek the sublime; they seek the memorable, the moving, the lines that live easily in daily life. Service, ever the craftsman of popular ballads, embraced this role as a maker of verse.
The origin of Service’s insight lies in his own career. Living in Dawson City during the Klondike Gold Rush, he saw a rough and restless people who had no patience for obscure poetry, but who craved songs and ballads to echo their lives of risk and hardship. And so he gave them The Cremation of Sam McGee and The Shooting of Dan McGrew—verses filled with rhythm, story, and character. These were not academic poems, yet they were loved, remembered, and recited across campfires and saloons. In them, Service found not fame among critics, but immortality among the people.
Consider the story of Homer, whose epics were sung aloud to warriors and wanderers. Were they not verse before they were poetry? They were stories meant to be remembered, carried by rhythm, passed from mouth to mouth. Without the verse-like structure, the Iliad and the Odyssey would have been forgotten. Service, standing in that tradition, knew that the public wants verse because verse is the vessel through which memory flows, while poetry in its lofty purity may remain locked away for the few.
The lesson here is that the artist must know his audience. If your gift is poetry, do not despise it, but also do not hide it away, tending it only for yourself. Translate some of its fire into verse, so that it may walk among the people and not only among scholars. This is not betrayal, but service—the offering of your gift in a form that can be carried by many. The poet who gives only to the ivory tower risks becoming a shadow; the poet who also writes verse may become a companion to multitudes.
Practically, this means that we, too, should not despise the humble forms of art. Write songs, jokes, simple stories—these are not lesser, but bridges to the people around you. Do not imagine that only the lofty is worthy. The rhymes of childhood, the chants of protest, the ballads of the street—all are forms of verse that shape lives and guard memories. If you have deeper poetry within, let it guide you, but also learn the art of simplicity, for it is through simplicity that the widest hearts are reached.
Thus the teaching endures: verse is the road to the people, poetry the vision of the heights. Robert W. Service counsels us not to abandon the heights, but to bring something down from them that all can share. The true poet is not only a seer but a servant, giving words not only to the few but to the many. Write verse, then, with courage and with craft, and let your poetry breathe through it like hidden fire. For in this balance lies both the elegance of art and the greatness of legacy.
TNThuong Nguyen
This quote really seems to speak to the tension between artistic creation and audience expectation. Service implies that verse, with its structure and rhythm, is more marketable and easier for the public to digest than poetry. Does this mean that true poetry is something only for a select group of readers who are willing to dive deeper? Or is there a place where the two—verse and poetry—can coexist, satisfying both the artist’s vision and the public’s needs?
SNTran Sy Nam
Service’s advice to avoid ‘mothering’ poetry makes me wonder about the balance between creativity and commercial success. Should artists worry about public appeal, or is the pursuit of pure, unrefined expression more important? Is there a fine line between writing art for art’s sake and writing for an audience? How do you think this philosophy applies to today’s poetry scene, where so much is shared on social media?
GDGold D.dragon
I find this quote rather provocative. Service seems to suggest that writing poetry isn’t enough—it needs to be shaped into verse to appeal to the public. But does this reduce the value of poetry as an art form? Is writing simply for popularity the right approach, or should poets stay true to their craft, regardless of public reception? Is the difference between verse and poetry more about form, or does it reflect a deeper artistic distinction?
TNQuang Thang Nguyen
Service’s comment about not ‘mothering’ a talent for poetry really caught my attention. Does he mean that poets shouldn’t overthink or overly refine their work, letting it breathe and find its form naturally instead? There seems to be a tension between the artistic desire to create something deeply meaningful and the commercial need to write something that resonates with a wide audience. Do you think poets today still face this challenge?
TTNguyen Trung Thanh
It’s interesting that Service suggests we should write verse instead of poetry if we want to connect with the public. Does this mean that he sees verse as a way to meet the expectations of a wider audience, while true poetry is something more personal or artistic? How much of writing is about artistic integrity, and how much is about satisfying the desires of the audience? Is the desire for public approval always a bad thing?